End of an Era

"Hey, man, I’m just trying to get into the spirit of your delusion." His fingers drummed on the microwave’s membrane keyboard, and it beeped in response. "See, in the final battle, the Hets will use a total-conversion weapon, turning three-quarters of the enemy planet’s mass into energy. Or maybe they just pounded the planet until it shattered and the bulk of it fell into Jupiter or the sun, or spiraled out to become Pluto." His one eyebrow arched in the center. "In fact, now that I mention it, that explains something that’s been bugging me. We’ve always assumed that the water-erosion features on Mars are incredibly ancient, created at a time billions of years before the era we’re in now. But, really, the only indication of the age of those features is the heavy cratering that overlays them. We made some assumptions about the rate of cratering, and then extrapolated that the water features underneath must be a couple of billion years old. Well, Mars would have been scoured by asteroid impacts after the planet in the belt was pulverized, giving the water-erosion landforms the appearance of being a lot older than they really are. That would explain how Mars could indeed be covered with free-flowing water right now."

Klicks was smiling, but it made sense to me. "Right!" I said. "The bloody Martian asked us about the fifth planet, then seemed surprised when I told it about Jupiter. In this time, Jupiter’s the sixth planet." My head was spinning. "Good Christ. And that explains why they’re here on Earth."

The microwave beeped. "You’ve lost me, Sherlock," said Klicks.

"Earth would be strategic in such a war," I said. "When Mars is on the opposite side of the sun from the — the belt planet, but Earth is on the same side as it, Earth could be a great platform for launching attacks."

"The ‘belt planet’, eh?" Klicks laughed. "It needs a better name than that."

"Okay. How about—"

"Not so fast. You got to name Earth’s second moon. It’s my turn."

He had a point there. "Okay."

Klicks scratched his head. "How about…"

"How about what?"

His grin had slipped away. "Nothing," he said, making a show of sifting decaf coffee crystals into his steaming cup. "I — I want to sleep on it."

He wished to name it Tess, of course. That was fine with me, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Klicks continued: "That would be one hell of a war, Brandy. Mars laid waste. The other side’s home world reduced to rubble."

"So you can see that we can’t bring the Hets forward."

Klicks shook his head. "I’m not sure about that. I’m still not convinced by your virus theory—"

"It’s not my theory, dammit. It’s what the Het told me."

"And, besides, if fighting wars was enough to disqualify a species from being otherwise decent, you’d have to kiss humanity good-bye, too. Plus, they’ve voluntarily left our bodies twice now."

"They have to do that," I said. "They get claustrophobic if they inhabit the same body for too long; they need to constantly conquer new creatures." Klicks rolled his eyes. "It’s true," I said. "The Het told me. Look, they knew it would be over three full days until we headed back; sticking around inside our bodies that long would be the viral equivalent of waiting endlessly at the airport. Of course they exited us; they knew they could always reenter just by having a swarm of troodons overpower us, if no other way worked out."

"You’re putting the worst possible spin on everything," said Klicks.

My turn to roll eyes. "Look, these creatures can dissociate into components small enough that you’d need an electron microscope to see them. Once they’re loose on Earth in the twenty-first century, there would be no putting the genie back in the bottle. Bringing them forward in time would be an irrevocable decision, a real-life Pandora’s box."

"You’re mixing your metaphors," said Klicks. "Besides, leaving them back here would be an irreversible decision, too. We’re the one opportunity the Hets have to be saved."

"We can’t risk that." I set my jaw. "I’m convinced — convinced — that they’re, well, evil."

Klicks sipped his coffee. "Well," he said at last, "we all know how reliable your conclusions are."

I felt a knotting in my stomach. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He took another sip. "Nothing."

My voice had taken on a little shakiness at the edges. "I want to know what you meant by that crack."

"It’s nothing, really." He forced a smile. "Forget about it."

"Tell me."

He sighed, then spread his hands. "Well, look — all this nonsense about me and Tess." He met my eyes briefly, then looked away. "You stand there all high-and-mighty, both judge and jury, condemning me for something I didn’t do." His voice had gotten small. "I just don’t like it, that’s all."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. "Something you didn’t do?" I sneered the words. "Are you denying you’re having an affair with her?"